


Felis Fordus

by BrandyFromTheBottle



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Crack, Gen, cat ford, grunkle stan trying not to strangle his brother, guess who's cat went into heat AGAIN, he's already an asshole cat, i didn't even have to change his personality, kitty ford, neko ford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 14:27:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13250133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrandyFromTheBottle/pseuds/BrandyFromTheBottle
Summary: Stan does a whoopsie and now Ford is an asshole cat. So, not much has changed.





	Felis Fordus

**Author's Note:**

> Changed some stuff from the tumblr version and kicked myself a lot.

If Stanley had know that gold, cat statue (“Bastet, Stanley, keep up.”) was gonna cause this much fucking trouble he would have let it alone and left a hundred fucking mice at it’s feet.

“Stanley!?” Ford is banging on the door. “Stanley, what are you doing in there? Why is the door closed? Stanley!?”

“I’m tryin’ to take a piss!” Stan shouts over the banging and shuffling.

“...But why is the door closed?”

  
  


XXX

  
  


“Stanley, we’re out of food!” Ford shouts and Stan slams his head into the controls, knowing full well that they have a full larder. “Stanley, we could starve!” Ford’s voice is getting closer. Stan lumbers over to his back-up stash of “edible foods.” 

“Come ‘ere, Ford!” He calls, carefully breaking off a piece of jerky and hiding the rest again, quickly. Ford comes in soon after, eyes big, pupils blown.

“Stanley, we are out of food.” He says, plainly, as if a grave fact. Stan rolls his eyes.

“How do you feel about jerky?” He asks, revealing the treat. Ford looks at the dried meat with an unnerving focus.

“That is a suitable offering.” 

Stan tosses the jerky into the air and only laughs a little at Ford pouncing after it.

  
  


XXX

  
  


“Ford, no, spit that out!” Stan is trying to wrestle Ford to the ground, enough to get a few fingers between his lips. Ford growls and thrashes. “Ford, the bait is not food!” He shouts, forcing two fingers between Ford’s lips. Ford makes another low noise of discontent. Stan pulls back, spit-sticky fingers and all. “Fine! Choke on worms and anchovies!” Stan storms off but he hears the retching noises of Ford puking everything up.

  
  


XXX

  
  


“I am in great pain!” Ford is screaming at the top of his lungs, even the gulls have given up by now and Stan is grateful that they are in the middle of the ocean.

“You’re fine, Ford.” Stan says dryly, looking over his three-month-old subscription. Ford paces, leans, paces, sits, paces.

“I am frustratingly aroused!” He shouts and Stan calmly turns a page he hadn’t been reading.

“You’ll live,” Stan says. Ford screams wordlessly and it takes another day for the fish to come anywhere near the boat.

  
  


XXX

  
  


“Stanley.” Stan ignores him, trying to thread the needle to repair the latest series of mysterious tears in the sails. “Stanley.” Ford says again, growing annoyed. 

“I ain't getting you a litter box, Sixer.” Stan says drily, beginning to stitch what he can on the sailcloth without patching it. He hears Ford huff.

“Stanley, you are ignoring me.” Ford rumbles like a warning. “Stanley.” Stan finally looks up and his eyes widen.

“Ford, no.” Ford looks him dead in the eye and taps the spool of heavy cotton closer to the edge of the table. “Ford, don't do it.” Ford taps the spool twice, gaze unwavering.

“Don't ignore me, Stanley.” He warns, hand pulling back.

“Fuck, dont!” Stan darts forward to shoo Ford away. Ford scammers off, but not after sending the spool flying and getting tangled in the sailcloth, tearing it further. 

Ford wisely stays hidden until sundown; until Stan finally stops cursing. 

  
  


XXX

  
  


“Did you piss on the bed!?” Stan shouts and Ford has the nerve to look smug.

“It's mine.”

“So you pissed on it? Where are we going to sleep, Ford?” Stan scowls at the stinking mess.

“You're going to clean it,” Ford says, affronted. “I'm not sleeping on that.” Stan smacks his face.

“I swear, Sixer, if you've pissed anywhere else.”

“...”

“Ford.” Stan growls and Ford looks at the wall, huffing.

“The kitchen is also mine.”

 

XXX

  
  


When they dock next and Ford is no longer trying to chase the gulls or napping in sunbeams, Stan finds the first colony of cats he can and leaves them a bowl of cream and a heap of tuna, even if the local chew him out for feeding strays. He feels for the furry, little guys. He ignores Ford hissing at a tom who gets too close.

  
  
  
  


 


End file.
